


Sticky Situation.

by sapphire2309



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6718084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire2309/pseuds/sapphire2309
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy's in a bit of a sticky situation. Dottie is <i>not</i> helping her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Situation.

Dottie lies flat on a rooftop with a good view of the warehouse she's targeting and uses the scope of her rifle to watch the guard limp his way along the south wall. It took him three minutes to make is appearance, which probably means he's taking his own sweet time walking the perimeter. 

Well, all the better for her. And the rescue she _isn't_ staging. This isn't a rescue, not in any shape or form. It's a capture. Peggy's vulnerable, and she's taking advantage.

(There's no way _that_ can go wrong.)

There are no windows, or she would have dropped at least some of her opposition before entering the building. But as things stand, all she can do is not raise any suspicions by letting the perimeter guard live.

Without turning away from the scope, she reaches out a hand, unzips her bag, and runs a finger over each weapon in turn.

It wasn't easy to get her hands on all the materials she needs for this op, but a gun filched from a distracted cop was all she needed to shoot her way to a decent selection of automatic weapons (she's taken to them rather like a fish to water, they're so _fabulously_ powerful), a sniper rifle, and a selection of grenades.

She selects two, then takes a third for backup, to prepare from the slim probability that she'll lose one or both of her pimary weapons.

The guard _finally_ comes limping back around, a full seven minutes after he left. She almost laughs. She could break in blindfolded with her hands tied behind her back, and they still wouldn't see her coming.

She waits for him to disappear around the corner before she detaches herself from her rifle and jumps the two floors from the roof to the ground.

Time to have some fun.

-:-

She's tired. Oh, she's tired. 

She's fallen into a haze. The only thing that comes to her mind is a name. A fragment of hope? A desperate wish? She's not sure. She calls out anyway.

_Steve? Steve!_

Questions. Suddenly, she remembers questions. Endless questions that she refused to answer for some reason that she doesn't remember anymore. She doesn't even remember the answers now, but she pretends she does, pretends that she's gritting her teeth in refusal even though there's no flood to dam up.

She lets out a tired sigh. _Steve._ Her call weakens.

She feels the siren song of sleep echoing through her brain and almost, almost follows it to bliss, but a sharp, untimely kick delivered to her side jerks her back to the dingy room she's spent the past... five days? Week? Few days in.

"You do not rest till you tell us what the SSR knows about the Arena club," a man informs her rather matter-of-factly.

The Arena Club. Okay then. That probably meant something to her at some point, but the effort she'd put into locating memories probably isn't worth it at this point.

Ordinarily, she'd lash out at this lot of fools. But her last meal of slightly stale bread was far too long ago, and her limbs cannot fathom the concept of movement. (It doesn't exactly help that her hands are tied behind her back.) Instead, she says, "You can't be serious."

That earns her a rather spectacular look of incredulity. She files it away for future amusement.

She continues, "You'd think I was the one doing the torturing with the amount of bruises you lot are carrying. Consider yourselves _lucky_ I don't want information out of you."

That earns her a solid punch to the gut. She doesn't really mind, though. The relief she gets from angering them is somehow greater than the pain.

-:-

Dottie eases the door of the warehouse shut behind her. She'd entered with guns drawn, but apparently, on the inside, this place is more like a storage unit. There are large containers lined up in two rows all through the warehouse.

That complicates matters, but it doesn't have much of an effect on her plans. (Her evil, diabolical, _unhelpful_ plans.) And thankfully, she hasn't been spotted yet.

She heads to the container on the left, scales it with little effort, and looks out at the entire warehouse.

There are three guards surrounding the container on the far end. (Of course it's on the far end. Why would anything ever be easy?)

She should have carried her rifle. She could have dropped them from here if she had. But then again, she was expecting a warehouse, not a collection of containers.

She leaps noiselessly from the container she's on to the next, continues till she's as close as she can safely get.

Three guards outside, probably one man inside the container. This shouldn't be too hard.

She draws one of the three guns she carried and smiles.

Showtime.

-:-

Honestly, Peggy's tired of this man's droning voice. His questions _never end_.

Of course, he continues anyway. Too foolish to pay attention to her. God, if she had a few hours of sleep, the _things_ she would do to him. Arrest him, for starters. Hand him over to Jack Thompson, for a second.

"How did the SSR find out about headquarters?" 

So the place she'd been sneaking around was their headquarters? She goes to file this away for future reference, but when she reaches the relevant folder, she finds a couple dozen identical entries there. 

It would seem that she's more tired than she thought she was. Oops.

"I've no idea," she says. 

It's true. She's far too tired to reach into her brain and retrieve the relevant memories.

He curls his fingers into fists.

She rolls her eyes. "Go for it. See how much of a difference it makes."

Still worth it.

-:-

In the end, she didn't even need the gun, just her arms and legs. All the men seemed to be sporting injuries of some sort, which drastically slowed their reaction times to something _far_ below any threat level. 

She looks at the strewn bodies on the floor, incredibly proud of herself. She still has the advantage of surprise in her pocket. _Good old Peg._

She throws open the door to the container, grabs the first (and only) standing body she sees inside, and rests her gun on his head. "Well, well. What have we here?"

"Dottie?" Peggy says curiously.

"Hi, Peg." She smiles.

"If you don't mind, I'd much prefer it if you didn't kill him. He has plenty of information that might be useful to the SSR."

Dottie raises her eyebrows. The hand with the gun drops unconsciously.

Peggy smiles. " _There's_ a good girl."

Dottie raises the gun again. 

Peggy sighs. "I was just starting to think we'd made progress." She shakes her head dolefully.

Dottie turns to the man she's holding up by his collar. "If the lady's right-"

"She isn't-"

" _Either way._ I'll be holding on to you, if you don't mind." She slams the butt of her gun into his temple.

"Shouldn't have said it, huh?" Peggy says regretfully.

"If you hadn't, I would have killed him."

Peggy considers that for a moment, lips pursed. "Well, I suppose alive is better than dead."

"Oh, no, it isn't."

" _Dear_ me." 

"Whatever you say, Peg." 

Dottie turns and fires a shot, seemingly into the air. The bullet lodges in the chest of a man who appears at the door at the very last instant.

"Impressive," Peggy allows. 

She makes her way to her feet with a little help from the wall, even though her hands are still tied behind her back. _Impressive_ , Dottie acknowledges in return.

"D'you think you can walk, Peg?"

"Oh, I sincerely doubt it. I allowed these buffoons to use me as a punching bag in return for some amusement. I'm absolutely _covered_ in bruises."

Dottie strides across the room and loops an arm under hers with no warning. "Shall we?" she asks.

"Wouldn't it be more practical to untie me?"

"Practical for whom?" Dottie smiles sweetly. 

Peggy allows herself to be hauled along, a thoroughly bemused expression on her face. She isn't expecting to be dropped right by the door, which is unfortunate, because that's what happens. _It probably has something to do with the bit of commotion outside,_ she thinks. 

" _Stay,_ " Dottie commands.

Peggy rolls her eyes. "You're a barrel of laughs." 

Dottie blinks twice, then shakes her head and runs off, guns drawn. Several gunshots and pained screams later, she returns, a little blood marring her face. "There's blood on your face," Peggy informs her. 

"I killed a few people. It happens."

" _Dear_ me. Are they all right?"

"They're having a ball, Peg. Shall we?"

"Pleasure." She sticks out her elbow so Dottie can walk for her.

-:-

"Where exactly are we going?" Peggy asks after Dottie drives them past the same red brick building for the third time. 

"Truthfully? I've no idea." She lets go of the accelerator, eases her feet onto the clutch and brake, and brings the car to a stop at the intersection.

"What are you doing?" Peggy asks with the air of a curious child.

"Making a decision."

And oh, does she have a decision to make. 

She has Peggy tied up in the passenger seat of her car. She has a fairly limitless source of information on the Arena Club in the trunk. And she's not certain of what to do with either of them.

It should be obvious. Keep Peggy and try to corrupt her, coax information out of the source. 

But here she is, driving circles around a strange neighbourhood, torn.

Peggy looks like she's ready to fall asleep in the passenger seat. The man in the trunk is definitely asleep. Will continue to be asleep for the next hour at least, if she has anything to do with it. 

Oh, to hell with it. She opens the door and steps out.

Peggy jerks herself out of her stupor. "Dottie? Dorothy Underwood! You cannot leave me tied up in a car in some _suburb_! I will-"

Mercifully, she shuts up when Dottie opens her door for her. "Hop on out," she says, cheerful.

"Sadly, I remain incapable of independent movement."

Dottie sighs, yanks on Peggy's offered elbow for what will hopefully be the last time in the night, and deposits her on a convenient bench. 

"Thank you," Peggy offers carefully, with no small measure of surprise.

Dottie wordlessly lays a knife by her side. 

Peggy sighs ruefully. "As grateful as I am, I feel myself compelled to let you know that I will _not_ enjoy the acrobatics involved in freeing my hands."

"See you soon, Peg," she says as threateningly as she can. (Which isn't much, considering that she just let her go.)

Her hand hovers over the handle for the trunk as she passes it on her way back to the driver's seat. _Not today,_ she thinks as she keeps walking.

_But maybe someday. Maybe._

-:-

Peggy waits for Dottie to drive off, then begins to slither her way towards the knife.

She _really_ wants things to get easier now.


End file.
